PROCESSING
ENTRIES OF Things I am learning. Things I have learned.
Reflections. IdeaS. DREAMS.
Reflections. IdeaS. DREAMS.
Yesterday, AERA 2020 conference proposal were due (the American Education Research Association). We finished the quarter-system a month ago, two months before that, another round of conference proposals were due, and in two months, another round of conference proposals will be due again. Manuscript deadlines are often rolling, and pretty soon, we will be starting the academic job market season and post-doc applications, dissertation fellowships, and grant proposal deadlines will be just around the corner.
Did you feel anxious after reading that paragraph? I do. And it has felt easy, for each run to exhaust myself, hop down. grab a drag of water, and then say: on to the next run, next project, next deadline, and not stop. Not stop to let my muscles (both physical and mental) rest. Not stop to catch my breath. Not stop to be still and enjoy the world outside. It feels easy, not in the actual work, but easy because my mentality is already in that mode. I'll admit I'm tired, while still punching in the speed and incline level for the run I'm about to do. I think academia slowly socializes us to be non-stop marathon runners, with the finish line always moving just out of our reach, with a landscape of guilt for wanting to take breaks along the way. The sense of urgency for our research, especially research on critical issues, oppression, racism, violence to communities of color—these are real, and I am not advocating for us to ignore pressing issues or ignore our communities through coded language of "self-care". But what I am advocating for is the detox of guilt and a reimagination of the grind. Small things I've been trying for the past couple of months include:
I do my best to keep it to 4-5 color-coded groups because more than that, means I spend more time keeping track of pen colors than doing my work. In the past, the four I stuck with were
I had a meeting with my advisor today. Prior to our meeting, our program asks us to fill out a "mentoring form" where we reflect on the year, achievements, goals for the next year, etc. During our meeting, while we talked about this form, she asked me point blank: WHICH JONES ARE YOU TRYING TO KEEP UP WITH? The question, was based on the multiple times I had written in the form, that I felt "not competitive." She asked me to name names: who were the people I kept comparing myself to? And in that moment, I realized I couldn't name any. They were all figments of my imagination-- an amalgamation of my own insecurities and a person I would never measure up to...
I don't know if I'll ever get over imposter syndrome-- and from all the TedTalk videos I've watched, it doesn't seem like it's something to "get over," but the conversation, and this question was a much needed reminder, and somewhat of a relief, to realize I was competing against an impossible me.
ABD means that the "only" thing that is left between me and the Ph.D. after my full name, is the dissertation (*insert snort because the "only" is truly A LOT*) . ABD is the marker that I can now start THE THING because the amazing committee I have (all five of them) approved the dissertation proposal. For us, the proposal consists of the first three chapters of what will eventually become my dissertation:
I haven't posted in a while. Some of that had to do with me forgetting my password for this site and having to track it down / reset it. Some of it also had to do with being incredibly overworked and overwhelmed with the responsibilities I undertook, that all came to head in the past couple of months, which included
As you might imagine, I did not balance things well. Instead, I "pushed myself" along, and ignored the weariness and tiredness to just "push through." Was it successful? Unfortunately, yes. Both the conference and gala were incredible— in large part of the amazing team I worked with. The research project is trucking along. I have finally caught up on the associate editorial position workload. And I am continuing as the TA for this upcoming quarter. I say unfortunately, in listing how I was able to "accomplish" these things, because I realize that I have many bad habits in "balancing," that are only reinforced in the successful finishing of tasks. I gave up sleep, gave up meals (I dropped 15 pounds in a space of 2 weeks right before the conference), and gave up working on my dissertation, spending time with friends, and most importantly, taking care of myself and my mental health. Thankfully, I had friends who refused to be ignored and checked in with my through phone calls and food. So now, with the inordinate amount of pride I have because, honestly, I didn't think we (the conference planning team) could do it, let alone do it while juggling all the challenges we had + my other projects, I also realize I have a HUGE asterisk, and that asterisk is the community that helps with the (not so successful) "balancing" act. Now onto the dissertation! Sort of. Or maybe I should clean my kitchen and tidy up my apartment first... Last week, I got the go ahead from my advisor to reach out to the people who I hope will be on my dissertation committee. I had submitted my prospectus a couple of weeks prior and went through subsequent rounds of feedback, and that became the document I attached as I reached out to folks.
And now it feels REAL. — I mean, it felt real at every stage (like the initial draft I wrote, the dissertation applications I submitted that forced me to create a timeline, etc.) And yet, this, with a tentative idea of when I would like to propose my dissertation, suddenly concretized everything. I feel paralyzed. On one hand, I am ecstatic to be at this stage and start writing: writing writing writing. On the other hand, this... is it. This the start to the end of my PhD program (dun dun duhhhhhh). And this is the culmination of my time in this program: this is my the next REALity. Today, I did not watch, listen, or engage with the Ford, Kavanaugh hearings. Yesterday, I did for a bit and even that small amount was distressing, upsetting, and triggering— the last of which, is unfortunately, an all too of a familiar reaction for many women (and some men) I know.
An amazing scholar I know, shared her thoughts about today and I'd highly recommend reading it: https://krystlecobian.wixsite.com/ourdissertation/single-post/2018/09/27/What-Role-do-Scholars-Have-in-Events-Like-the-Ford-Kavanaugh-Hearings. And from what I gather, now slowly working my way back to social media after distancing myself the whole day, it was the same story of the same lessons that were never learned— of how "boys will be boys" and let's discredit, disparage, and discard women's voices, feelings, opinions, and their entirety. Today is tiring. Tiring for women. And likely even more tiring for Dr. Christine Blasey Ford.
And I think the first thing that I have come to realize is how much this entire process— academia, publications, pipelining, all this— is a labor of love. It sounds incredibly cliché, and in a lot of ways, it is, but even to get the point where I was able to consider publishing, was a feat of love. My undergraduate years were marked with anxiety, perfectionism, and at times, crippling self-doubt. Not much has changed more than 10 years later.
And research feels personal— IS personal. I filet myself and say, "Here, please critique this life's work that is built on experiences, thoughts, and beliefs of myself and the people I love." So last year, when I started thinking of this framework, a framework to critique colleges and universities on their responses to issues of campus racism and student activism, I viewed it as a theoretical possibility (read: dream), not the reality of an actual paper in front of me. I went through the process of believing it was not good enough, which of course, stems from believing I am not (good) enough. And those questions and struggles are not gone, just because there's something with my name on it now, and is likely a blog post for another day. So for me, this experience as a labor of love because it required me, not just to love my work, but to try to love myself and get myself to be vulnerable in ways that I avoid doing. Additionally, this publication process was also labor of love because of all the people who loved me through it:
That is the time stamp of when I turned in my dissertation prospectus to my advisor.
For those of you who may be like, what are these terms: the dissertation prospectus is, at least in our program, a summary/overview of our dissertation plan. With my advisor, this two-page prospectus is what we use then to form our dissertation committee— the body of people who will guide and (hopefully) ultimately approve your research. In a lot of ways, this is the (in)formal declaration that you are ready to begin dissertating. The whole process feels like an out-of-body experience, and as I'm sitting here at Philz (a coffee chain), typing away, I don't think it has hit me yet that I sent it in, (and by no means, is the prospectus approved.) And yet, in celebration of small victories because every step counts, today, at 1:07PM, after a summer of anxiety, fears, procrastination, cleaning, rest, vacations, relaxation, and more, I sent a prospectus over. I decided to work on my dissertation proposal, finally. I feel strange writing that first statement, because in some ways, I feel like I "deserve" time off. But in the exact same breath, I know I have also been beating myself up over the fact that I "wasted" my summer and "what do I have to show for it"... other than being rested, happy, and restored...
I think that's the funny thing about academia, that has been a hard transition since being a working professional. You can always do more, so resting becomes guilt, restoration becomes a luxury; and days off are undeserved. My summer was and still is wonderful. And yet, I keep having this nagging feeling— like a splinter you haven't addressed so it almost seems forgotten until the occasional snag, about what I could, should, and need to be doing to push my career forward. And the scary part is, those things don't seem to have room for the summer that I just had and am arguably, still trying to have. And yet at the same time, I also have to come clean that I have used this summer and used "resting" as the justification to hide behind my fear and anxiety of working on my dissertation proposal. Much like how I justify my procrastination as "self-care," I also know that deep down, I have been putting off work, not just because I needed a break (which I did and I have been enjoying), but also because I'm scared to go back into this space I'm still carving out of what my research is and who I want to be as a scholar. So today, I decided to work on my dissertation proposal, finally. Earlier this week, the Association for the Study of Higher Education (ASHE) sent a message about how it is temporarily suspending submissions for its journal, The Review of Higher Education. To read more about the impact, I highly recommend this article from Inside Higher Ed, which talks about the pressures for professors to publish, journals to review articles, and so forth. (If you're unfamiliar with the publication process, I wrote about it here.)
But I think that the article also scratches the underbelly of academia— specifically about pressure and performance. While I'm not 100% sure about my future path post PhD program, I feel the pressure to perform the Ps: propose for conferences, present at conferences, publish, and all of these alliterative verbs are tied to power: the power to make decisions, the power to put pressure, the power to hold, create, disseminate, legitimize knowledge. When I entered academia, I was told of the top tier journals, with which Review is included, and that this was the type of journal I should aspire to submit to. The journal has a high "impact factor" (which means who reads it) and is very selective, which is often correlated with high quality (thought that can also be unpacked). And this is not a critique about the Review, but rather a challenge about how we rank journals and view the publication process in general, especially when we start thinking about how knowledge is constructed. Knowledge is power. We know this. So then how are we, as people who read journals, submit articles to journals, reinforcing these power structures and the larger hamster wheel of performance? Because ultimately, to perform means we are being evaluated— whether that's from the reviews we get, the potential promotions before us, the submission acceptances we strive for. And all of that is laden with power. Power that becomes pressure that twists our identity into metrics of production and perfection. [Author note: I didn't want to publish this post because I think it is poorly written and a little disjointed with a lot of other thoughts I have related to power, privilege, and publications. But I also recognize that if I keep trying to only show the final product of things, while that helps with my perfectionist temptation, that does nothing for helping to explain the iterative process that happens and is natural when it comes to forming thoughts and ideas. So here it is: the post as it is, with numerous rounds of edit but still not quite what I want.] After spending two weeks on the road in a combination of vacation + conference + work trip that went coast to coast, I returned home a week ago, and am very thankful to be back. I loved traveling and writing while traveling was a luxury I hope to repeat, but nothing beats home for me and the routine for myself.
In Korean, there is a phrase "평범한 인생" that loosely translates to something like "simple, ordinary, routine life" and that is the life I lead on the regular. There's not bigger, deeper thought other than this: that I am grateful to be back to my ordinary, simple routine. I'm in the middle of trying to (unproductively) revise my prospectus, which for my program, is a 2-page, single-spaced document that outlines what I hope will be my dissertation, and covers the following sections:
While I have one draft ready, it's definitely a product of a 2AM, caffeine binge so I've been trying to redo the introduction. The process has been... trying... to. say. the. least. So, for inspiration, I decided to stray from academic reading and looked up (apparently) the "100 Best First Lines from Novels" from American Book Review. After perusing the first couple, some of which I recognized, I also realized that the "100 best" has a lot of people in the 19th and 20th centuries— particularly white males. The list was a sharp reminder about how best often means the most dominant group, and those with the most power. And while I can admit there are some great openers on the list, I think I'll be more selective about how I go about finding "the best" book openers because so much brilliance, especially with marginalized and minoritized voices, is unheard, unacknowledged, unread, and unseen. (Patricia Hill Collins, whose book, Black Feminist Thought (link), writes brilliantly about this btw.) So if you have any recommendations and inspirations, please, send them my way. Today was definitely a day full of wins. For context, the American Education Research Association (AERA) had their conference proposal deadline earlier at 11:59PM (PST) on Monday. And with that in mind, here are the wins I've had today:
ONE | The research team I am a part of was able to submit our proposal. That in it of itself is pretty sweet, but I think the added bonus was it being a really smooth process that was clearly delegated with a manageable timeline that we all worked really hard to stick with. As such, we turned it in a full 7 hours before its deadline. Hooray (because that def. didn't happen last time HAHAHAHAH~) TWO | Last year, I wrote a paper for one of my classes that was probably one of the more controversial theorizations I have done-- I would even argue that it's less of a theoretical paper and more of a scathing indictment of what colleges and universities are performatively doing to deflect progress with campus activism. The professor I worked with was wonderful, supportive, and encouraged me to submit, but I sat on it instead. But today, I decided (last minute) to take it out, brush it off, and give it a go. The submission was less about me getting it done, and more about me, being okay with whatever feedback I'm going to get because while not all feedback is great, me resisting feedback because of fear might be worse. THREE | My friend and I pulled a fast and furious and raced to the finish line— submitting a joint proposal at 11:55PM. I have been so excited for the work she is doing (preview: emotional labor and that's all I'll say as not to spoil it)~~ so we decided to try writing something together since I'd been tinkering with survey data that has some elements to her broader research questions in mind. It was exhilarating, stressful, and something we have both agreed not to do again (hahaha!) I am super proud of us because about three hours prior to, I think we both weren't sure if we could pull it off. But we did. Holy shit, we did it. FOUR | I mentioned in an earlier post about the conference stuff I do, and today, I held the last of the three orientations with the group of conference organizers I'll get to work with. At the closing of it, I think it hit me that this is real— a feeling I keep getting at every milestone, and this is a big one for me because now the whole group is ready, on board, and about to get started. Woah. And lastly, | FIVE | earlier today, I saw the proof of my solo-authored article I submitted for back in January. For those of you not in academia, a "proof" is essentially the final version of whatever you've submitted (article, book manuscript, etc.) that you see before it goes to print. I'm still stunned that I'm going to be published, and I'm also stunned at this 6-month timeline (because most timelines can be a year, upwards to 2 or even 3 years for an article to go from submission to acceptance to print.) And this ridiculous article is a testament to people believing in me when I didn't believe in myself and dragging me to this point while I doubted, cried, stressed, and cleaned my kitchen nonstop. Obviously, I cried in reviewing the proof because it still feels unreal and a very incredible, humbling win. Also for |SIX| , I went to the gym which is always a win because I hate going, and frankly, every victory, no matter how small, is a win. What a wonderful day of wins~ And | SEVEN | I'm drinking a favorite glass of white wine while writing this and it tastes just as good as I remember. On days that I'm not PhDing, I am part of a group that helps build out conferences for Koreans & Korean-Americans, and am lucky enough this year to be the chair. I'll be frank, it's scary to realize that I make a lot of the "final calls" and that the conference vision & execution is largely on me. Yet, as scary as it is, it's also equally reassuring— actually even more so reassuring to realize the support of the team I have and the people around me.
I remember hearing something (from somewhere), about how powerful it is when you ask someone, "can you help me" and the person replies back with "yes" as the first response. In those moments, the person's affirmative is happening without asking what you need help on, what needs to get done, what is the time commitment, etc. The answer is solely: I am here to help you (with the implicit of, in whatever you need me to do.) Over this past week, including today's series of conference calls & meetings, I've been given this response multiple times, and in reflecting tonight, how precious of a gift this is. Of course, having boundaries and establishing expectations is important— critical truly— when it comes to self care, self preservation, and surviving. I don't want to minimize that in reflecting on what is mean it means to be supported, because I think it's a both and rather than how one is "better than" the other (which it is not.) Instead, I'll end my reflection with how I feel very warm and fuzzy and very very supported, and how grateful I am for the community with me in all of this conference planning~ I was talking to a friend last week about how behind I felt. After all, the month changed to July and here were all these plans I had made— due dates I had planned out— and it was already JULY. The guilt crept in and I was, admittedly, beating myself up over it. She then reminded me that we (our school/program) our classes and finals had finished only two weeks ago, which I often forget since my brain is so wired to think of semesters (which meant I would have been done a full month earlier.) But that got me thinking... even if I was on the semester system where I had "finished" in May and it was now July, is it really that terrible that I hadn't met any of my (self-imposed) deadlines? While summer is definitely the time to grind (*cough ahem: dissertation proposal that I'm currently ignoring...), summer is also a time to rest and recharge, which is hard to do if I'm feeling guilty about resting and recharging, or feeling as though I need to earn my rest. All that to say, the status of my dissertation proposal is that it is not. Haha! :D I don't quite have writer's block. But it feels as though, instead of one gigantic mental block that's preventing me from my work, it's a bunch of smaller lego pieces that are preventing me from moving to point A to point B (where point B is me finishing my dissertation proposal.)
Luckily, I went to a writer's bootcamp workshop series where we talked about our various legos and tips/tricks to push past these blocks. (As a side note, I was comforted to realize that many of my peers and I use the same tactic of cleaning our kitchens and bathrooms when we are trying to avoid writing.) Part of pushing past the blocks was recognizing our productivity habits, our routines, and also how we measure success with our writing (i.e. by page limit, by word count, by section, etc.) And for me, I realized that I have been socialized to only write when I have a deadline— specifically, when the deadline is imposed by a conference proposal/paper due date, or a class assignment. If that is the case (which it is), I actually don't really know how I measure success with my writing (which is probably a larger indication of how I do not know how to measure success within academia...) So while this bootcamp is a way for me to create artificial deadlines (and not solve the problem), I think it'll also help deconstruct some habits with my writing and help me put away some of the lego blocks? I realize that part of the reason why I've been having trouble writing is because I'm not reading.
I am not reading because (1) I am lazy, and more importantly (2) I have been struggling with the mountains of readings I should be doing— whether that be for my dissertation, neglected manuscripts, or even personal growth. Last week, I finally kicked myself into gear and picked up Black Feminist Thought, by Patricia Hill Collins. The book is a classic (and foundation) when thinking about race, racism, intersectionality, and structural inequities by centering on the experiences of Black women. I've read sections of it prior to but this is the first time I'm reading it beginning to end. One of the things that strikes me about the book is how relatable and accessible the reading is. Despite it covering a wealth of theories, frameworks, and concepts, it is an "easy" read, where easy is not about the complexity of topics, but rather about the clearness in delivery. It's the type of writing that is digestible and thought-provoking and also something I don't feel scared to pick up or confused after I finish a sentence. More often than not, I find myself taking notes of sentences I like and passages I know I will quote later. So yes, for better writing, I need to be reading, and maybe what will help is choosing books like these so that the mountain doesn't seem like such an impasse. Like all great procrastinators, I am always most interested in refocusing on my blog when I have things due, and unfortunately for me, I have many things due this summer. Yet, one thing I realized is that in the midst of due dates (both externally and internally enforced), I rarely spend time writing. As such, my resolve is to use this platform as a space for me to write.
It's been a minute, and a year. I finished my coursework, passed my (doctoral) qualifying exams, got some work featured in The Chronicle of Higher Education (still a bit in shock), found out I'm going to be published as a solo author (a lot more shock), wrapped up the pilot of what hopes to be the groundwork for my dissertation, and the list goes on.
First year was hard. It was hard because I wasn't sure if I had chosen the right program/school (i.e. UCLA). But second year was harder in some ways because I wasn't sure if I had made the right choice in terms of the Ph.D. This year was the year that everything I had been theorizing, dreaming, thinking, became. It became more than my thoughts, it became tangible papers and proposals, and that scared the shit out of me. All questions of "am I good enough," and "why am I here" tormented me and paralyzed me in my work. I looked over my Instagram the other day and realized I sound super sappy/corny/cheesy because a lot of my posts talk about how I wouldn't have made it this far without the people around me. But it's true. This year was harder in ways I think I'm still trying to (fully) understand, but I do know this: in this year of hardships (mostly mental), I had friends call me out on my bullshit, force me to eat and take care of myself, make me take walks when I wanted to try to just "push through" when I was clearly burn out. They introduced me to new games (Zelda), sent me texts/postcards/letters, and so much more. The light at the end of, what seemed to be an unbearably long tunnel of 2nd year, was the community that encouraged and supported me to keep walking~ Today, in my qualitative methods class, we talked about Harry F. Wolcott’s ethnographic trilogy, that starts with Sneaky Kid and its Aftermath: Ethics and Intimacy in Fieldwork. The short version of why this work is problematic is based on the power dynamics between Wolcott and Brad, the subject— the so-called “sneaky kid”— of his anthropological study. To say that Wolcott and Brad had an imbalance of power is an understatement. Aside from the researcher/researched power imbalance, Wolcott had Brad eventually performing tasks, Brad lived on Wolcott’s land, and they were also physically intimate for a short period of time. After Brad disappeared for a short time, he comes back and tries to light Wolcott’s house on fire and is jailed for arson.
All this to say, we talked about this book in the context of ethical research and what this research is for. My professor talked about the importance of respect, responsibility, reciprocity, and relationships, along with the constant reflexive question of how your research is serving and honoring the populations with which you work. And all of these I agree are critical foundations for any work and all academic research. What stunned me from the Walcott example was not just the breach of ethics, but how celebrated he still is within the academy. Here is a man, that for me, essentially exploited a young man who exhibited extreme vulnerability (in housing, mental capacity, trauma, and more) and was failed by the larger systems at hand. And yet, when all is said and done, Walcott had a flourishing career, even after these publications, and Brad sat in jail. Where do we say enough? Perhaps, in the context of this week, I am also angry about Casey Affleck winning the Oscars on Sunday and I’m still angry (and tired) when I think about who is sitting at (or perhaps vacationing away from) the Oval Office. And yet, academia, especially education as a field is one that for me is so implicitly and explicitly tied to social justice, that hearing of the continued acknowledgment and dare I say, celebration, of Wolcott’s research shook a part of me that held fast to “what we do, matters.” My TA and classmates pointed to the importance of agency and the choices we can (and are obligated to) make to not reproduce or support or condone these actions. As researchers, we are not just called to be ethical in our own research, but also called to disrupt practices that continue inequity and marginalize/exploit vulnerable populations. Today, my love for academia took a hit and I’m waking up tomorrow a little more critical, which is probably a good thing, and also a needed reminder that our field is just as flawed as the ones we like to critique. Today is the second day of Orientation and this morning, as I was getting ready, I found myself feeling… overwhelmed and unexcited. This is a feeling I haven’t had in a while– usually, I’m really excited to meet new people and hear about their stories, etc. So, as I procrastinated getting ready, I figured out why:
I was unknown. In the majority of groups that I’m a part of, and for almost all the networking events I attend, I know at least a couple of people, or I happen to be organizing the event itself. As a result, I rarely go into situations where I’m not going to know anyone there. Why was it important for me, to be known? Well, to be frank, sometimes I’m tired and I like having people around me where I don’t have to explain myself all the time. In other words, I don’t have to be afraid of making mistakes or trying to be the best possible version of myself, because my friends already saw all the sides of me. Comfort. Security. Feeling safe. Also, making new conversation is hard and tiring at times. I run out of questions to ask. But when I’m known, I can have an off-moment– hell, even an off-day– and it’s fine because we have a wealth of scatter points that accounts for random outliers. Of course, when I went to Orientation, I ran into people I met back in March. And we talked and shared and started building a community, so I know it’s going to be fine It just happened to be a different sort of day and I was reminded of the privilege of having people around you who know you already. I went to orientation today, and the keynote speaker, Cheryl I. Harris, talked about the myth of the independent scholar. This idea perpetuates that students are put-together– the idea of “fake it till you make it.” Before I started college, I remember hearing about the idea of “effortless perfection.” People (and girls, in particular) felt this pressure to perform academically, go work out, look great, bake cookies, be a good friend, and on and on… all the while looking free of struggle, worry, or anxiety.
Harris challenged this myth because ultimately, our best learning does not happen independently. We need not only our notes and our understanding, but other people’s input, reflections, voices, and challenges to make sure we are grasping material. Sometimes that will happen through study groups being formed, but at other times, that also means that we have to be vulnerable and “look stupid” by asking questions. The values of individualism and self-sufficiency are direct threats to asking for help, because it requires admitting that you need someone else. Dr. Harris is right, of course, with the importance of learning with and from others. The context of understanding, creating, growing cannot happen in a vacuum. I had quite the long day today. We had two orientations – both for respective programs – and many hours of small talk – something I enjoy, but also find slightly draining. As a result, I decided to take a break and head over to The Atlantic. If you’ve been following the news about Somaly Mam, and especially the Newsweek articlepublished on May 30th, The Atlantic’s, “Victims Can Lie as Much as Other People” article shouldn’t have been a surprise. I, on the other hand, after living under a rock for the past two weeks, stared at my computer screen. In some ways, I am still blankly staring, even as words are being typed out by my hands. How did I fall for it? How did I get swept away in the stories and narratives and compelling descriptions, agonies, and anguish… without question? I remember how I felt after reading Three Cups of Tea. I also remember how I felt after reading the exposés and articles denouncing Greg Mortenson and his fudging of details and even entire schools. And I remember thinking, never again. My interest in human trafficking started, much like many others – reading Half the Skyand avidly following the documentaries, and then picking up to read Somaly Mam’sRoad of Lost Innocence. I remember reading some reviews and reading the suggestions of exaggeration and fabrication. So how did I fall for it? Easy. In reality, I was lazy. I was lazy to do my own research, to follow up on those reviews, to look for other sources, to spend time researching and critically analyzing an issue that I “supposedly championed.” I was lazy, but I also was and still am naive. I wanted a heroic narrative and Somaly Mam, in all her passionate glory – one I experienced first hand – had it. And I stepped on the bandwagon, refusing to question the stories because I didn’t want to. I wanted my Disney Hercules, with the story of struggle, climax, and resolution – a narrative that was engaging, compelling, and moving. And to question the details meant I would have to deal with the nuanced relationship between storytelling and fundraising, the ethical complications of compelling documentaries, and wrestling with “the truth.” And truthfully, it was much easier, and I was happier, believing the story I remember when I first read “To Hell With Good Intentions” by Ivan Illich. I was at the height of my “Savior Complex,” filled with rhetoric about alleviating the injustices of the world: a modern day Superwoman. Illich ends his address with the line, “…Come to look, come to climb our mountains, to enjoy our flowers. Come to study. But do not come to help.” I remember thinking about why “helping” caused such a negative reaction? I spent the next several years taking classes, working with community partners, reading books, dialoging with friends, neighbors, to better understand not only service, but also a bit about myself. And this is the bottom line: I like feeling needed. I like feeling that I can bring something to the table – that I am irreplaceable. And that is the problem. If I truly value those in need, if I truly want to help, I cannot be irreplaceable – in fact, I must be absolutely replaceable, and not because someone takes my role and responsibilities, but because my role and responsibilities no longer exist. The conclusion of sustainability, advocacy, social justice, is that some day, some very distant and far day, nonprofits will no longer need to exist. Those systems of injustice – the vast and complex systems that required these organizations in the first place, will no longer exist. And if I derive my self-worth from being needed, in always being able to help, I am playing into a system that deep-down, I never actually want to change. |
In a year, I read somewhere around 100-200 books. I don't have a TV and I use reading as a form of escape, and I especially like reading outside of academia. It also helps with improving my writing :)
When I'm trying to concentrate, I like having background music that's super dramatic. For some reason, instrumental music is instrumental (pun!) in helping me concentrate. Most of the songs are Korean-drama OSTs (original sound tracks), w/ a few classical music scores in the mix!
CategoriesI don't categorize anything other than my "random round-ups" because it takes too much work (insert laughing emoji).
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